Darkness and Smoak
by Somber Clown
Summary: AU. Working to pay off her mother's debts, Felicity takes a job moonlighting as a dealer at an underground casino run by none other than Bratva captain Oliver Queen. It was supposed to be temporary, a way to get quick cash. She sure wasn't supposed to fall for him. Then again, darkness always had haunted her.
1. The Sixth Confession

**A/N: **So this came about because I started what-iffing. We know Oliver was, at some point, heavily involved in the Bratva. What if he hadn't left that life behind when he decided to return from Lian Yu? What would his life look like in Starling if he chose a path that led him toward organized crime rather than toward being the man under the hood? Then I got to thinking about the mystery surrounding Felicity's father. What if he died rather than leaving his family? How would that change Felicity's upbringing and inform the person she is today?

Ultimately, this is a romance between Oliver and Felicity, but it won't be all sweetness and light. Periodically, chapters will contain graphic content including unprotected sex, rough sex, oral sex, and violence. If that's not your cup of tea, this one may not be for you. However, this story will _not_ be porn-without-plot.

As ever, I don't own _Arrow_, its characters, etc.

**Prologue: "The Sixth Confession"**

_Four years ago_

There's never a best time for a disaster, right? It wasn't as though someone could schedule earthquakes or medical emergencies or losing someone close. But if there were such a thing as the _worst_ time for a disaster, out of all the dates in Felicity Smoak's life, Tuesday at 4:00 p.m. was about the worst time disaster could strike as far as she was concerned.

She was sitting in the waiting area of Queen Consolidated—the one place where she had been dying to get an interview since finishing college.

Apart from her, thirteen other graduates were waiting for their big chance, all dressed in immaculate, tailored business suits—the kind she couldn't afford. She merely wore a crisp, pink button up and a gray pencil skirt. The money she had squirreled away to buy an interviewing suit had gone to pay her mother's overdue mortgage instead. But what she couldn't offer in expensive clothes, she knew she could make up in hard work and dedication. She just needed someone to give her a chance.

"Felicity Smoak?"

The voice sounded disinterested, but Felicity straightened up in her seat and smiled as one of the personal assistants called her name.

"Yes. Here I am." She stood and took a deep breath, waiting for further instructions.

"Please take the elevator up to the thirty-fourth floor. Someone will be expecting you."

_The thirty-fourth floor. _This was it. Her chance.

_Don't blow it. _

_Don't blow it._

Her interview would be with a panel that consisted of an HR representative, the director of Applied Sciences, and the CFO himself, Walter Steele, all of whom would essentially grade her responses using a matrix.

Nothing like a little pressure. But who was she kidding? She'd been under pressure all her life, but opportunities like this didn't come along every day. According to the research she'd done, Starling City wasn't just home to some of the greatest tech companies in the United States; it was also the best place to get started and to experience an environment of "what if," not just "if only." Unfortunately, that desirability meant that for every open position, hundreds of people applied. Those applications would be whittled down to a select few who would be interviewed.

When Felicity applied for a position in the newly minted Queen Consolidated Applied Sciences division, she had never even considered the possibility that someone might like her (sparse) résumé enough to want to meet her personally, but perhaps graduating at age twenty from MIT with a Master's Degree opened some doors that might otherwise be closed to her.

It was happening.

Her dream was coming true.

She brushed her hands over her gray skirt nervously and with measured steps made her way to the elevator area, ignoring the people ambling up and down the corridor in their immaculate expensive clothes, seemingly oblivious to the outside world. They were probably used to their simple yet sophisticated surroundings, with marble floors and beautiful peonies, and calla lilies arranged in crystal centerpieces. The walls were adorned with polished frames displaying awards and the company's most successful projects showcased like little trophies, alongside a tribute to Robert Queen, the former CEO who had been lost at sea two and a half years prior.

She stopped in front of the elevators and sighed happily. This wasn't just any workplace— it was heaven. And she wanted to be a part of it. Whatever it took. Away from the dust of the desert. Away from the shadows of her past that still haunted her.

A bell chimed, and one of the three elevator doors opened, giving her a view of a small but tastefully decorated space. Soft music was playing in the background at a pleasant volume. As she stepped into the elevator, a man also hurriedly entered the metal box, bumping into her slightly.

It happened so quickly: the folder she carried slipped out of her hands and dropped to the floor, papers scattering.

"Sorry about that," he said kneeling to gather the papers. She squatted alongside him to reach for the folder when their hands brushed.

A bit of static electricity discharge jumped between them, shocking them both. "Oh." A nervous laugh escaped her. "I wasn't expecting that."

The man avoided meeting her eyes and said nothing else as he passed the folder and papers he had gathered to her. Odd. It was almost as though he didn't want her to get a good look at him, in which case he probably should have dressed less conspicuously. In a sea of expensive suits, his (well-fitting) cargo pants, Henley shirt, zip-up hoodie, and the black baseball cap he wore over longish light brown hair stood out.

Oh Google. What was she doing? She wasn't here to check out a scruffy man on the elevator, even if said scruffy man was _built_ and had a perfectly chiseled profile. Seriously. He looked like a statue from one of her art appreciation classes.

The bell chimed again. Felicity rose to her feet quickly and pressed the backlit button embossed with the number thirty-four. Her companion of sorts had already pressed thirty-six.

While the elevator began its ascent, she rearranged the papers in her folder and mentally went through the questions she expected to be asked in the interview and her prepared responses.

The interview.

This was it… her big chance. All her life she had worked hard for this exact day. Just a few more seconds. And then she would give it all her best because she just _had_ to have this job. There was no possibility, no other option, and no what-ifs. It was about more than wanting; it was a matter of necessity. If she wanted to make it in the business world and get out of her outstanding debt, she had to go the extra mile, and she was prepared to wow them.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Her hands turned clammy from her increasing nervousness, and her mouth went a little dry. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that it didn't register that the elevator had stopped moving until a little shake indicated something was up. She looked up at the digital indicator above the door, only to see they had stopped at the thirty-first floor, and the doors had remained closed.

_Seriously? _

She raised her eyebrows when the guy impatiently began to press the buttons on the control panel. The music faded into a weird distortion, until they were plunged into an eerie silence.

Frowning, Felicity turned to face her companion, wondering what the heck was going on, but all she caught were piercing blue eyes just before the bulbs started to flicker. The lights flashed once more, then switched off, bathing them in complete darkness.

"What the fuck," he cursed, his voice filled with annoyance.

For a moment, Felicity held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for the lights to switch on again. A few seconds passed, which turned into minutes. And still there was no light, no movement—nothing to indicate they even were in an elevator. They may as well have been in a void.

She blinked in quick succession, blind in the pitch-black. As her brain tried to make sense of the situation, countless thoughts began to race through her mind. How long would it take until people noticed there was a technical glitch and sent repairmen? How long were the interviews scheduled to take, and if she appeared late, would she get a second chance? And finally, how long would the oxygen last in such a confined space?

_Just theoretically asking. _

Not that they were going to be stuck for much longer. Or suffocate anytime soon because that would be a worst-case scenario. But it would only be natural to know… just in case.

She wasn't claustrophobic—actually, far from it. But dark, enclosed spaces weren't exactly her favorite places to be.

And particularly not those with no clear exit sign.

Why had she decided to leave her cell phone in the car for the interview?

Time crept by until she was sure they had been in there for at least fifteen minutes. Or maybe it just felt that way. She sighed impatiently.

"There must be an assistance button," she said as she let her fingers brush over the cold steel wall. "Are you sure you pressed that one?" Her hand touched his, accidentally finding him in the dark. She quickly pulled back nervously.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"No problem." In the silence around them, she could hear his finger pressing buttons every other second, as if that would make someone hurry faster.

At last, the stranger let out a frustrated sigh. Something rustled, followed by shuffling. Felicity narrowed her gaze to focus in the pitch darkness, but her vision didn't sharpen to allow her to see contours. Nothing stood out. She groaned and braced herself against the feeling of helplessness growing inside. Not seeing anything while knowing there was no window or door she could open was already scary. Combine that with the fact that she had no idea if help was on its way, and the entire situation was turning into a nightmare scenario.

The guy was probably just as frustrated as she was, because she heard him shifting.

"What are you doing?" Felicity asked as more rustling sounds carried over from the floor.

"Trying to find my cell." His voice came from beneath her, which made her realize at some point he must have knelt down—or assumed a sitting position.

Felicity wet her lips nervously. A stranger was doing God only knew what at her feet. Great. Now that made it hard to ignore him, and then the word "cell" registered in her mind.

He exhaled another frustrated sigh. "Damn it, Maseo," he muttered under his breath. "Do you have yours?"

"Not on me."

"Okay." His tone was surprisingly calm as he drew out the word. "Let's see if the emergency phone's working."

She jumped back as his hand reached over her chest, almost touching the thin fabric of her top.

"Hello?" he asked.

Silence fell.

Holding her breath, she strained to listen. The line remained dead. No voice, no white noise, nothing to indicate anyone had been alerted to their situation. Her heart began to thump hard against her ribcage, and a thin rivulet of sweat rolled down her back as realization kicked in that it might take a while before someone was alerted.

"Can you try again?" Her voice came so thin and raspy, she knew she was close to having a panic attack.

"No point. Phone's not working. Reception's gone. We're stuck," the guy said, almost bored. No panic. No whining. Just cool composure with a hint of an annoyance, as if the entire situation was a mere inconvenience he experienced on a regular basis. "Let's hope they won't close off the elevator area for the rest of the day," he said to himself with… humor?

Felicity swallowed hard. If that was true, and they ended up stuck in there all day, they'd never last. They'd run out of oxygen and—come to think of it, hadn't she read somewhere that people could die within two hours when stuck in a confined space? And hadn't they already been stuck for some time? A sense of foreboding settled in the pit of her stomach.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

She could feel it in the oppressive silence and the fact that the stranger had stopped pressing buttons and rummaging through his pockets. The air was getting increasingly hot, making it hard to breathe. The rivulet turned into a layer of sweat covering her entire  
back as she tried to force oxygen into her lungs. In that moment, a loud thud reverberated from the walls, followed by a short, faint shrill.

An alarm? _Oh, my god. This wasn't some technical glitch. It was a real-life emergency. Something had happened. Something _really_ bad. _

Faintly, she could hear hurried steps, some of them pounding, but none of them seemed to stop near the elevators. Everyone would forget about the two people stuck in the elevator, because they had more pressing issues to attend to—like saving themselves. The alarm continued to blare in the distance.

To her utter shock, a whimper escaped her throat as fear closed in on her, just like the darkness. "Oh, God." Her voice came high-pitched, reflecting the dark thought that kept circling in my mind. _I'm going to die_. The thought hit her so hard a wave of dizziness rushed over her. But, at twenty, she was too young for her demise, particularly because she hadn't even started to live her life yet.

She had struggled through college while amassing a vast student loan debt that had kept her strapped for cash for years. How ironic would it be if the one job she had thought would be the answer to all her problems might just kill her?

The thought of being stuck in a confined space, missing the most important interview of her life while dying from oxygen depletion, was too much. Suddenly, her breathing quickened, and her pulse began to race hard and fast.

She realized the whizzing sound echoing in her ears wasn't a result of her frayed nerves but a noise coming out of her mouth.

"I think I'm having a panic attack," she whispered.

"We'll be all right," the guy said, and this time Felicity noticed how smooth his voice was. Sexy, with the slightest hint of a rumble to it.

Maybe her other senses were sharpened in the darkness, or they were indeed running out of oxygen and her brain was slowly starting to play tricks on her, but in the confined space she could smell him clearly. Not just the clean scent of his soap, but him—the man who couldn't see her.

"I'm not sure," Felicity choked on her voice. "What if no one comes?"

"What's your name?" Sexy Voice said.

"Felicity," she managed.

Something warm brushed her shoulder, instantly raising goose bumps across her arm, and trailed down her arm until it touched her hand. Strong fingers clasped around her hand and squeezed, not hard enough to hurt, but the motion helped her regain some composure, reminding her that she wasn't alone. "Okay, Felicity. This is likely just a temporary glitch. You need to calm down."

_I am calm, aren't I?_ She'd opened my mouth to tell him that when the air whizzed out of her lungs in a hot swoosh. It sounded like someone was whistling, and not in a cheerful _Andy Griffith Show_ way. She had thought it was the sound of the elevator, when it had been her all along. "I can't," Felicity whispered. "I can't breathe. I feel like I'm choking."

To her dismay, she started shaking and her breathing came faster.

"You're hyperventilating," Sexy Voice said, increasing the pressure of his grip. "I need you to breathe with me. Okay, Felicity?" He inhaled and exhaled deeply, his hot breath caressing her skin, and she realized just how close he was standing. Under normal circumstances, it would have been too close for comfort. Only, these weren't normal circumstances.

Staring blindly ahead, she followed his instructions, inhaling with him, holding her breath, and then exhaling again.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

Felicity shook her head, even though he couldn't see her, as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "We can't even call for help. If we're stuck in here for a whole day, we'll die," she whispered.

"No." His tone was sharp. Defiant. "People know we're in here. Security is calling for help this instant."

"You don't know that," she muttered.

"Trust me. I do."

She wanted to believe him so badly her whole body hurt from the effort. But, for some reason, his words rang empty and senseless.

"People can die in elevators. I read about it last week."

"Not us. Not today." His hands began to rub up and down Felicity's arms, as though to soothe her, but the motion only managed to send a layer of ice down her spine, an odd contrast to the heat she felt in the darkness.

"It's so hot," she whispered. "I really can't breathe."

"You can do it, Felicity. Focus on my voice. Focus on taking slow, deep breaths through your nose, and exhale through your mouth. That's all that matters now. Nothing else."

She forced more air into her lungs, but even though oxygen reached her brain, somehow it didn't have the desired calming effect. "The funny thing is, I'm not ready to die," she said weakly, squeezing his hands for support.

"You won't." His determined tone left no room for discussion. "Tell me something about yourself." He was obviously trying to divert attention from the situation at hand, only it didn't work. "Where do you live? What do you like doing in your free time?"

School. Work. Study. Rinse and repeat. "There's nothing to tell. I'm boring."

A sexy little laugh, then, "I highly doubt that, Felicity. You sound like an interesting person."

In spite of herself, Felicity smiled. He had no idea how wrong he was. "No, really. I'm a bore."

"Well, try me. I'm in no hurry."

Neither was she. They'd probably been stuck for more going on an hour, and she needed a distraction, anything to not feel the cloak of darkness that surrounded her. "Felicity," he prompted, hesitating. Or maybe he was having trouble breathing as well.

And then they noticed it: a slight shaking and vibrating of the walls. It stopped almost as quickly as it had started. His hands let go of her. Clothes rustled, and something dropped to the floor with a muffled thud. Then his hands were back on Felicity, his bare skin brushing hers in the process, his fingers tangling with hers. She realized he must have taken off his hoodie and rolled up his sleeves.

The air _was _getting hot. It wasn't just a figment of her imagination.

Suddenly, she had a vision of dying without clearing her conscience. If she couldn't do all the things she had envisioned she'd be doing with her life, if she died, then she needed to at least relieve her conscience.

Confess. Acknowledge her mistakes to find absolution.

Catholics were really onto something there.

"You think I'm interesting?" she asked, not waiting for his answer. "Okay, I'll tell you something about me. I have five secrets. Five secrets I don't want to carry with me to the grave. Probably the only five things that don't render me a complete bore."

"You're being melodramatic. It's just a technical glitch. People are—"

"Coming to rescue us. Yeah, got it." She rolled her eyes because she didn't believe a word he said. "Except that it sure felt like an earthquake, and everyone's probably gone."

"Earthquakes happen all the time. And people return for those left behind. So, what are your secrets?"

The air was getting all hot and stuffy because the air conditioning was no longer working. Already her lungs were burning, and her head was dizzy. It was only a matter of time until they ran out of oxygen, and he knew it.

"Confession #1, I'm scared of dark places. Any dark place," she admitted. "Always have been, and this is right up there with my worst nightmare."

"You don't need to be scared. I'm here. Being stuck in an elevator is not a big deal. And a lot of people are scared of the dark, but once you know it's just in your mind, your imagination, your fear talking, you'll get over it."

Felicity smiled bitterly. "You're great at this. Really, you are. And if I had to go through this all over again and I could choose one person to be stuck in an elevator with, it'd probably be you. But that doesn't change anything. I'm still scared out of my mind. It's—"

"Nyctophobia."

"Yeah, that," she replied, impressed he knew the technical term for fear of the dark.

In the darkness, she could feel the smile on his lips, and for a moment she tried to imagine him, but all that came out was a fuzzy picture of blue eyes and a soft, sexy smile. Maybe lopsided. Or dimples, because she was a sucker for those.

"What's number two?" His voice was hoarse now. Definitely trouble breathing.

"I'm buried in student and credit card loans. It's so bad, it's unreal. Last week I said to my best friend Sadie that if I didn't get this interview, I'd fake my résumé just to get a job. Any job. She laughed about it, but I meant it. I'm really that desperate."

"The depravity of it," Sexy Voice said.

Was he mocking her? She had just opened her mouth to retort with a comeback burning on the tip of her tongue when he cut her off. "I think, given the circumstances, it's understandable. Sometimes it's easier to be someone else, someone other than yourself. It doesn't make you a bad person…"

"Unless I was to pretend to be a dentist."

"In which case you'd be evil incarnate," he replied. "My point is there's far worse out there. I've seen it."

She sucked in a deep breath and regretted it instantly. Her head felt so dizzy, she feared she might just pass out. At the rate they were losing air, her confessions would be left untold if she didn't speed things along.

"I guess we all revert to lying and cheating if we want to achieve something, because sometimes there's no other way to get there. What about the next one?" Sexy Voice said, as though reading her mind.

"You're not bored yet?"

"Not yet. It's definitely getting interesting." His fingers brushed her wrist, and in spite of the macabre of the situation, she found herself relishing his touch, maybe enjoying it a bit more than was proper.

The next point on her little list was a little tricky.

"I absolutely suck at relationships."

"All relationships?" he asked.

"Not all. I mean, I've had a very successful relationship with my fern."

"How do you define a successful relationship with a fern?"

"I've kept it alive. With people? That's a different story."

"Your family?" he asked.

"We lost my dad when I was ten. My mom…well, she's my mom." The disdain in her tone left little doubt as to the sourness of that connection. "And with men, I just run scared, I guess. I can't even relax enough to…you know."

"Have sex?"

"No, I've had sex," she corrected him before she could stop herself. "I should just shut up now. I don't know why I'm talking about this." Her face felt so hot, but this time, she was certain it was from embarrassment.

"They say confession is good for the soul."

"But not the ego so much."

"So you can't relax enough to…share a bathroom sink…let him see the inside of your lingerie drawer…"

"Orgasm."

He exhaled. "That was going to be my next guess."

"Right," she half laughed, half huffed, all at once thankful for the darkness so she didn't have to look him in the eye.

"Maybe you never found the right person or the right situation," he whispered after a slight pause, all teasing gone from his tone.

"You have an excuse for everything, don't you?" she marveled.

"I'm just a realist."

"Or an optimist."

"I don't think I've ever been called that," he replied softly, and for a moment, it sounded like it was his own confession.

She smiled despite herself. With his sexy voice, a sexy body, and a face she couldn't conjure in her mind having seen it all too briefly, she couldn't help but be drawn to the stranger. Too bad they were about to suffocate.

"So what's four?" he asked.

"Four is a good one. I'm a bit of a card shark."

"You look so innocent."

"The best ones do. I once won eight thousand in Blackjack at the Sands in Vegas until they figured out I was counting cards. Ratios of high to low, it just seemed natural. And then there's poker. That's a little more challenging because it's not just about ratios but about observing human nature."

The darkness before her eyes began to spin. If it weren't for the man's strong arms around her, Felicity would have dropped to the floor, too weak to sit up straight.

"Hold on to me," he whispered.

She was. More than he'd ever know.

"I might need to cut to my last confession now," she said. "And it's a big one. I have carried it most of my life. Someone died because of me." Her voice came so low and faint, she wasn't sure he could hear her. "I'll never be able to live with myself."

Silence.

For a second, she wondered if he had even heard. "I'm sure it wasn't like that. It was an accident," he said at last. No hesitation. No blame.

No mistrust.

Either he was someone who believed in the goodness of people, or he was trying to keep the conversation light because of their situation, and then sprint for the nearest exit—if they ever made it out alive.

Felicity shook her head. "You don't know me. You know nothing about me."

Another pause. "Nobody really ever knows anyone else."

A few seconds passed, during which she could hear his breathing, slow and steady, but slightly labored.

"Lay down," he whispered. "The air's cooler on the floor."

_Didn't he hear what she'd just told him?_ she wondered incredulously. But when he tugged at her hand, she did as instructed. His arms wrapped around her and he drew her to his chest, nestling her in his arms as they lay on the floor. The minutes passed, and the alarm continued to blare. With every second, breathing became harder.

"No one's coming for us, are they?" she whispered nearly inaudibly, her face buried against his strong chest. He smelled  
so good it was impossible to resist his scent.

"We should do something to take our mind off it," he replied. His voice had become quiet, shaky, heavy, and—was that fear?

The man took a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Lightly, his fingertips slid across her neck, his thumb caressing the jugular vein jumping in her neck.

"What do you suggest?"

"I could kiss you," he whispered. In the pitch black, she could feel his hands cup her face.

She looked up, her gaze searching for him in the darkness, when she realized that this might just be their last moment. She might die with a stranger.

"Felicity?" he asked, his voice drawing her back to him.

"I don't even know your name," she managed.

He chuckled. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

No, not really. "I want to kiss you, too."

In a moment of boldness, she raised her mouth to meet his. He ran a thumb across her lips before their mouths connected, warm and tender. For a second, Felicity could sense his hesitation, and then his lips opened to claim her mouth with a hunger that took her breath away.

The sound of an alarm continued to carry over, but she couldn't make herself care anymore. All she wanted were this stranger's lips crushing into hers and the hot waves of want he sent through her, erasing the worry, helping her to forget, keeping her alive— on the brink of sanity—with nothing but a kiss.

She had never felt this way before. She had never been in such a state of fear and gratitude that she wasn't alone. Then again, she had never been so close to dying.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, their mouths meeting once more, when something hard crashed against the walls, resulting in a loud thud.

Felicity turned her head toward the door. A shrill noise, like metal scratching against metal, echoed, followed by the sound of a different alarm, the noise increasing in volume. She pressed her palms against her ears, and saw a sliver of light as something pried the door open.

"They're here for us," she said, relief streaming through her.

He didn't say anything.

"Did you hear what I just said?" she asked again, touching him. "You were right. They came back for us."

Suddenly, a bright light blinded her. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the brightness, marveling at the irony of having become accustomed to the darkness, her old nemesis.

Arms wrapped around her and pulled her to her feet, and something cold was pressed against her face. Felicity inhaled automatically, then with more fervor as she realized someone was holding an oxygen mask against her mouth and nose.

"I've got her," a male voice yelled in her ear, the sound almost as loud as the blaring in the background. "We're coming out now."

Felicity's head snapped back toward the elevator, in the stranger's direction, and she opened her mouth to speak. To her dismay, she realized he wasn't behind her, or maybe she couldn't see him through the thick curtain of charcoal smoke that had filled the hall.

"No. Please help him," she croaked, planting her feet firmly on the ground, but the arms around her were stronger. Her voice could barely reach her own ears, let alone penetrate the shrill sound of the alarm. Struggling against the iron grip, she was carried away before she could turn to get a glimpse of the stranger in the elevator. "No," she pleaded. "Please! You've got to help him. Please."

But her voice was too weak to get anyone's attention. As she was carried down flights and flights of stairs, she glimpsed more people being helped out—their faces reflecting their shock and disbelief. Figuring someone might need it more than she did, she tried to remove the oxygen mask, but her rescuer pressed it against her mouth, his gesture urging her forcefully to keep it on.

Eventually they burst through the reception area and onto the street outside, where hundreds of evacuated office workers and onlookers had gathered, some filming the event on their cell phones, others commenting loudly.

"I'm fine," Felicity said to a concerned woman and scanned the faces around her, even though she knew better than to expect a miracle. Her heart slammed so hard against her chest, she was sure it would break.

There was too much chaos; if the stranger had been rescued, he couldn't possibly find her in the crowd. She didn't even really know what he looked like.

As she was guided to the waiting medical assistance, a crashing sound rang behind her so loud that the rumble rocked her body and the ground beneath her feet vibrated. A cloud of dust billowed into the sky. Her heart stopped.

"People are still trapped inside," a fireman shouted into what looked like a radio, and began to gesticulate. "Send another unit. I repeat, send another unit. We need as many people as possible."

No. No, no, no. She stared at the building, her fingers clasped over her mouth in shock as the disaster unfolded. She didn't know if he had survived, but she hoped he was safe, that he had made it out in time.

Chances were slim.

And all the while came the sinking realization that if he didn't survive, he'd become her sixth confession—the man with the sexy voice whose name she didn't know.


	2. Pride Goeth Before a Fall

**A/N: **A big thanks to those of you who read, favorited, or followed this story. Also, thank you so much to guests, chloe.m, JC419, emilyhotchner-olicity-bethyl, farahsbc, Newsies73, Yelena89, TiaraRose, SmoakCrazyOliciter, Sakura Crystals, alvirgil, wazo29, Yoruichi89, and LuluDancing for the reviews. Such a nice welcome! I truly appreciate your kindness!

I hope this chapter lives up the promise you saw in the story. It is super long, and I would love to know what you think. As ever, I don't own Arrow, its character, etc.

**Warnings: ** Rape is mentioned in this chapter, though no actual assault/description of an assault takes place either in the present tense of the story or in the characters' pasts. Also, some of the characters have potty mouths. Oh, and Oliver is kind of a jerk in this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter One: Pride Goeth Before a Fall  
**

_Daddy shoved her inside the hall closet when he heard noise near the entrance. He lifted his finger to his lips. "Not a word, Lissy."_

_No, not this. It was dark. So, so dark. _

_She whimpered and pushed the door open a crack to let in light. It was enough to allow her to see what was happening, but now she wished she couldn't. She wanted to block out the sights, block out the sounds. Pounding fists were followed by the sound of snapping wood and her mother's screams. She wished she were in her room, that she could dive under her covers. She felt safer under there. Hidden. It was what she usually did when she heard Mom and Daddy shouting, but not tonight. Tonight, she couldn't look away. _

_BAM. _

_The door flew open and smacked against the side of the wall. She saw Daddy backing away into the kitchen as three dark shapes moved inside swiftly with purposeful strides. Her heart hammered hard against her chest and she knew that she should stay hidden, or maybe she should run, but she couldn't. _

_Something was about to happen—something that made the screams catch in her throat. A man grabbed Daddy by the throat and held a knife to his neck. They were shouting things—things that were lost in time, in memories long gone. Everything was a confusing blur, except she remembered well how Mom begged them. _

"_Please, don't kill him! He'll get the money!" _

_At the word, 'kill,' Felicity burst out of her hiding place and confronted the three terrifying men. She would beg them to leave her daddy alone, to take her instead. They were so bold that they don't even wear masks, but time had twisted their faces into grotesque masks. They looked like cartoonish villains. _

"_Daddy!"_

_Daddy could barely speak with their hands wrapped around his throat. _

"_Felicity, get back." _

_He never said her full name. It was always 'Lissy.' _

_For some reason, she fixated on that detail. _

_She screamed as one of the men stepped toward her, and the shrill sound made the man holding Daddy jump a little. A thin, red gash opened in his neck as the knife sliced him. _

_Felicity screamed and screamed. The blood was so dark, almost like syrup. It bubbled from his neck, and he collapsed, grasping his neck as if he couldn't breathe. _

Felicity jerked awake in her too-small bed, heart pounding hard as graphic images burned in her head, as clear as they were fourteen years ago. Her chest constricted until she thought she might pass out. Under the covers, she felt like a ten year old kid again. The covers remained over her head, even though she was boiling under the sheets and sweat had soaked through her t-shirt.

She willed her quivering nerves to calm down, but the pain in her chest was sharp. She felt like she was going to die.

_You've been through this before. _

"_You can do it, Felicity. Focus on my voice. Focus on taking slow, deep breaths through your nose, and exhale through your mouth. That's all that matters now. Nothing else." _

She struggled to get her breathing under control as shaky breaths rattled through her lungs and a new wave of regrets washed over her.

Whatever happened to Sexy Voice?

Her studio apartment was completely silent, except for the sound of water rattling through the pipes in the neighbor's apartment above. Her head pounded, and she groped around in her sheets for her cell phone. 5:02 a.m. That was longer than she'd managed to sleep the day before.

If only the images would leave her when she woke.

She could still see it… The gaping wound that vomited blood… The color as it left his face and drained out of his neck.

She could still hear that horrible gasp as he looked straight at her, his blood soaking through her pajamas as she knelt next to him.

She swiped her fingers over her eyes again and again. _Stop crying_. He had died a long time ago. But she couldn't help her reaction because under the cover of darkness, she still felt like that kid. She could feel everything—even smell his blood.

From under the sheets, she reached out to flip the switch on her bedside lamp. A yellow glare washed over the bland walls of the room, over the cheap furniture and worn bedding. There were no photos, not of parents or friends, or anything that might indicate she existed outside of a bubble.

Casting aside the covers, Felicity took a deep breath.

Time to do this all over again. Time to pretend.

* * *

Anniversary week. Four years.

It was a morbid anniversary, in her opinion. Not that any of the decision makers at Queen Consolidated asked an IT girl (extraordinaire) for her opinion. Well, they probably only thought of her as an IT girl. The _extraordinaire_ part was just her own description because she could do her job in her sleep. Now that she thought about it, doing her job in her sleep would be preferable to the truly sucky dreams she'd been having.

Funny. The dreams had mostly vanished for years. Only after that ill-fated day when she'd been trapped in the darkness of an elevator with a stranger whom she'd never see again did they return. Usually, they were straightforward, a replaying of the night her father died. Sometimes they were an amalgamation of the two, and the stranger would be the one with his throat slit. And sometimes she was trapped in the dark elevator with her father's killers as his blood slowly filled the metal box, threatening to drown them all.

In the aftermath of the bomb planted in the QC building and all the ensuing chaos, Felicity had been relieved to find no one who met the stranger's description among the wounded or dead. The only casualty, in fact, had been the bomber himself when he inadvertently detonated the device early. If everything had gone according to plan, the devastation would have been far worse.

In the bomber's rambling manifesto, later retrieved from his apartment, he excoriated the company, blaming it—and the Queen family in particular—for everything from the decline in the Glades (home sweet home) to the global warming epidemic.

The bomber would have been pissed if he'd known the attack would end up helping QC stock prices. The Queen family went from being billionaires to gazillionaires. Not that there was any such thing, but _dang_, they were wealthy. Felicity couldn't even imagine what it would be like to not have to worry about money. On those rare occasions when she allowed herself to eat out, she only ate half her meal and took the other half home for later. But the Queens? They probably spent more on floral arrangements in a month than she made in an entire year.

Not that they _totally_ sucked or anything because they didn't. She was grateful for her job, even if it wasn't the dream job she'd imagined in Applied Sciences. And the Queens did give back to the community through their various charitable trusts.

Anniversary week became part of that charitable endeavor. Each day during the week, employees were encouraged to volunteer in their community, and QC subsidized the effort by allowing them to volunteer while they were on the company's clock, so to speak. The week culminated in a gala at Starling Grand Hotel's ballroom, a fundraiser for a local charity.

Not that she would be attending, of course. Anything she had in her closet would resemble Cinderella, pre-makeover. And the only mice Felicity had in her apartment _weren't _the type that would sew a dress for her, not even a designer knock-off.

At her desk, Felicity nursed a cup of (formerly) piping hot coffee from the break room Keurig when Regina Pardini tapped on her office door and walked in without an official invitation. Not that Regina needed an invitation. They started at QC around the same time, endured the scrutiny of their supervisor Ralph 'Smile? What's a smile?' Jameson together, and in general had each other's backs. Over the years, Reggie had become one of her closest friends.

"How do you always get here so early?" Regina asked with a sigh as she set down a small paper bag in the middle of Felicity's desk. Her dark, delicate features held a grimace on this particular morning, as though the fluorescent lighting in the office had the same effect on her that the sun had on a vampire.

"You know me. I like to get an early start."

"Couldn't sleep?" Regina asked knowingly.

But Felicity didn't answer. Instead she looked at the mystery bag, her nose answering the question that she gave voice to. "What's this?"

"Breakfast."

"Oh, I ate before I came." _Stupid pride_, she silently cursed herself.

Regina gave her a look that told her she knew otherwise.

"But I'd hate for it to go to waste," Felicity added feebly as she felt her stomach rumble. The truth was she hadn't had anything to eat since supper last night. Even that had been pretty meager. Ramen noodles. Salty goodness complete with MSGs. "Thank you."

"What are you doing after work today?" Regina asked as Felicity began to unwrap an English muffin sandwich with egg, cheese, and turkey sausage.

"Freelancing."

Felicity took on extra work after hours. It started with non-IT co-workers who needed technical assistance with their personal electronics rather than with QC issued laptops and such. Then she started getting calls from friends of co-workers. It was an easy way to make a little extra money.

Regina tsked. "Not tonight, okay? Tonight we're going to blow off some steam. Get margaritas."

"Wish I could." _Except I'm flat broke_, she wanted to add.

Oh yes, she was living the dream.

_This_ was what she'd gone to one of the best universities in the country to do: pinch pennies while trying to keep her head above water.

Even in college, she had worked ungodly hours to sent money to her mother. Such a reverse situation from all of her friends who were frequently getting cash infusions from their wealthy parents.

And to beat all, she was still supporting her mom.

Everyone always said, "college is the best years of your life." That hadn't been the case for Felicity. While in college, she'd built up the idea of getting an actual grown up job as leading to the best years of her life. So far, she still wasn't feeling it.

Regina pulled a deck of cards from her messenger bag. "Want to play a game?"

"I really need to work, Reggie, if I'm going to make it over to the animal shelter later."

"This won't take long. It's simple really. I'll shuffle the deck and we'll each draw a card. If my card is higher than yours, you come out to play tonight."

"_I'll_ shuffle the deck," Felicity relented. The tension in her shoulders eased as the plastic coated cards slipped around her fingers effortlessly. She studied their beautiful simplicity, the tiny printed hearts and spades.

A smile twitched over her face as she remembered all the tournaments she won in high school. When Texas Hold'Em swept through her school, everyone played cards. She had quite a league going. Ten dollars to buy in, and more often than not, she won. That well dried when her reputation as a card shark preceded her and her classmates decided it just wasn't fun to lose anymore. That—and the school administrators didn't approve of her enterprising methods of moneymaking.

Felicity shuffled and set the deck on the desk for Regina to cut. Once she had, both women drew a card.

"Five of diamonds," Regina revealed.

"Four of spades," Felicity grumbled. "Unbelievable. Statistically speaking, I had a far higher probability of getting a card greater than five."

"You can't always win," her friend replied triumphantly. "I'll be by your apartment with a dress for you to borrow at 7:00 p.m."

"A dress? There's really no need. We can just go down the street after work to grab a drink."

"Yes, there is. We're going clubbing tonight."

"I thought we were getting margaritas."

"Two birds. One stone," Regina replied coyly. "And don't start planning your escape. You're stuck with me. Plus, I've heard you don't want to miss Verdant."

Felicity's phone began to vibrate on her desk. She frowned immediately as she leaned over the screen and recognized the number. Taking it in her hands, she let it ring a few more times before answering.

"Hi, Mom." She cringed at the sound of her weary voice. "I'm at work. Now really isn't a good time."

"_Felicity, I need to ask you a favor." _

Straight to the point. Whatever could it be? "Yeah?"

"_They're gonna cut off my electricity." _

Felicity sighed into the phone. How many times had she heard it? _I can't pay my phone bill. My mortgage payment is due. I owe my friend two hundred dollars_. _They're going to cut off my gas. It's the middle of December; I'll freeze to death. Do you want your mother to die?_

_Newsflash. You live in freaking Las Vegas. Even in December, you won't die from cold._

"I can't keep doing this forever, Mom. I really can't." She took off her glasses and began to rub her eyes before she realized she had smeared her makeup to the point of resembling a raccoon. Why did her mom keep asking? _It's because you keep paying_, she reminded herself. She finally had the credit card payments down to a manageable level, but there was no room for error.

"_What's the big deal? I'm just asking for eighty dollars. Eighty bucks will cover it! You have that fancy job in the skyscraper—" _

"And after the bills, I literally have nothing left over."

"_You have credit cards,"_ her mother reminded her.

"Those are supposed to be for emergencies," Felicity exploded, "not to pay for your screw-ups!"

Regina whirled around to look at Felicity with a raised eyebrow. She knew all about Donna Smoak.

Felicity waved her off.

"_How dare you speak to your mother that way! After all these years and all I've done for you. I cooked and cleaned everyday, washed your laundry—" _

Felicity held the phone a foot away from her ear, having heard the speech many times before to the point that she could quote it if pressed. Yes, it was terrible to be disrespectful to your parents, but she'd had it. "I'll send the money, but if you ever call me again asking for more, I'll hang up. No more, Mom."

She had said, "no," so many times that it didn't really sound like a word anymore. It had lost all meaning.

Her mother's sobs crackled through the speaker as she thanked her. _"I wouldn't know what to do without you, Felicity. I know I'm a terrible mother, but I do love you."_

Felicity pursed her lips together. Donna Smoak _was_ a terrible mother, and Felicity wouldn't argue otherwise, but hearing her mother crying over the phone still tugged at her heartstrings, even though she had pulled this same act more times than Felicity could count. She knew how much money she had in her bank account, down to every last dime. The eighty dollars that she would have to subtract from her account and then budget around that loss for the month ate at her like a disease. She pressed "end call" on the screen before letting the phone drop from her hand onto the desk.

"Felicity," Regina began delicately, "you know that you can borrow from me any time."

But Felicity blistered at the suggestion. She would _never_ be her mother, mooching off friends and acquaintances. "Thanks, but I'm fine."

Reggie's doubtful eyes looked away from Felicity. She bit her lip as Felicity gathered all the cards back into her hands, running her fingernail along the edge of the stack.

_What a great way to start the day. _

* * *

"Yes, Mr. Queen! Yes!"

The brunette's keening as her inner walls clenched his cock urged Oliver to chase his own orgasm. With two more deep thrusts, he grunted harshly as he came, the pleasure of the release washing over him in waves.

The pleasure was all too brief.

Warmth gave way to emptiness.

He pulled back slightly, studying his partner. She was pretty, if not a bit obvious looking. She wore heavier makeup than he preferred, but her body was toned and her tits were gorgeous. Tommy would be pleased to know he was right about her breasts; her plastic surgeon _had_ done a fantastic job. When she'd walked into his office that morning, braless with her nipples perfectly erect under her thin cotton shirt, Oliver had not been able to resist, especially when she brushed up against him. And the reason he'd wanted to meet with her in the first place fell by the wayside almost as quickly as her clothing had.

She looked up at him sheepishly from where she was spread eagle on the leather couch in his office. Her hair was mussed, and her skin flushed a deep pink. Those perfect tits still stood at attention.

"What a great way to start the day! Fucking Oliver Queen," she exclaimed in awe, still slightly breathless.

Oliver withdrew, walked to the desk, and got a tissue to envelop the used condom that he removed from his softening cock. Once he threw it away in the wastebasket under his desk, he began to tuck himself back into his boxer briefs and fasten his pants.

"Thank you, Melissa. I enjoyed that."

"Maybe next time you'll even take off _your_ clothes," she cooed as she watched him lustfully.

He smiled at her tensely, the smile not reaching his eyes. There wouldn't be a next time, as far as Oliver was concerned. She'd stolen from him, and that wasn't something he took lightly even if the sum was paltry. Besides, being naked with a woman was intimate, and all he'd wanted was a quick lay, something to take the edge off, to relieve tension. A woman's willing pussy or mouth was so much better than getting off by his own hand.

"I still can't believe I just fucked _the _Oliver Queen!" she marveled as she searched around for her panties.

_The Oliver Queen_. The label was cringe inducing. If only she knew what he really was, she wouldn't be so eager to spread her legs. Or maybe she would. Some women got off on danger.

"When you called me here this morning, I…I have to admit I was a little nervous."

Oliver looked down at his feet and saw the tiny scrap of fabric. He bent down, picked up the panties, and tossed them to her. "What do you have to be nervous about?" Oliver questioned. He toyed with her, much the way a cat toys with a mouse.

She at least had the good graces to get flustered. "I…well, I, I mean, you're you. I didn't even think you knew my name." She pulled the panties up her slender legs, followed by the tight jeans she'd worn there that morning.

"I make it my business to know what goes on around here. I wouldn't be much of a businessman if I didn't." His eyes still zoomed in on her breasts, which jiggled as she pulled her t-shirt over her head. It was a shame to cover those up, but all good things….

Oliver walked to the office door, turned back to her, and said, "Let me show you a few things."

She nodded and followed him out onto the catwalk that overlooked the dance floor and bar area of Verdant. The club had an almost eerie quality in the daytime, as though it were a ghost town. "With the lights, the music, and the crowd, sometimes it's easy to overlook the cameras. There," he pointed. "There…there….and there…and those are just the ones that should be obvious."

Melissa's face blanched, his meaning sinking in. "I can explain. It wasn't much. Just a few dollars here and there."

"That's not the point. I can't have employees around that I don't trust. You're fired, Melissa. Be grateful that's the only consequence."

She gasped. "You can't fire me after what we just did! I will sue you for sexual harassment. Or…or…I'll have you arrested for rape!"

Oliver's eyes narrowed, and his voice grew harsh. "What do you think the camera in the office will show? I sure as hell didn't force you to unbutton my pants or drop to your knees and suck me off. I didn't force you to do a strip tease or sit on my couch with your legs wide open while you touched yourself."

She visibly trembled as his handsome façade slipped away, replaced by a sneer and coldness she hadn't seen before and couldn't have imagined. "Mr. Queen, _please_."

"Funny. That's what you said when you rolled that condom on my dick and begged me to push inside you. You've gotten all you're getting from me. Give my regards to your fiancé."

Tears streamed down the brunette's cheeks as she rushed from the club catwalk and past Tommy who had just emerged from his own office.

"Didn't you used to actually have game with women?" Tommy asked as he marveled at the young woman scurrying past.

Oliver shoved his hands in his pocket. "We're going to need a new bartender. I fired Melissa."

"What? She's one of our best! She knows how to flirt with men…and what's even hotter is when she flirts with women. Come on, Ollie. The customers love her."

"She's been skimming money from the bar," Oliver explained bluntly.

"Shit," Tommy wiped his hand over his face and stared in the direction Melissa had fled. "Now I'll never get a chance to cozy up to her and find out for sure if her rack is real or fake."

Oliver cleared his throat. "Implants."

"And you know this…how?"

"Because I just fucked her in my office before I fired her."

Tommy's eyes widened. "That's cold. Even for you."

Oliver's jaw tightened. "Don't feel too sorry for her. She threatened to cry rape until I pointed out the cameras we have all around here that capture everything."

"But there are no cameras in your office…for…" Tommy cleared his throat. "…_obvious_ reasons."

Oliver clasped Tommy's shoulder and squeezed it, a genuine smile crossing his lips. "She doesn't know that."

"But you _didn't_ force her, did you?"

Oliver's smile faded. He'd been many things in his life, most of which weren't good. A bastard with impeccable breeding. A cheater. A ghost. An enforcer. A killer. A survivor. A капитан, a captain of the Bratva. A prick. The one thing he'd never done, _would_ never do, was force a woman to do anything sexually she didn't want to do. He knew men that got off on overpowering women, but he'd seen enough in the last few years—human trafficking, the aftermath of sexual assault—to get physically ill at the thought. Besides, Oliver had a preference for strong women and enjoyed the give-and-take, not just taking.

"Tommy, did you roofie that girl back in college?"

"Of course not. I like my women to be willing."

"Exactly."

"Sorry, buddy." Tommy looked at him shamefacedly. "So a new bartender it is. But her breasts…"

"It's good to see you two are hard at work." Moira Queen's voice cut through the empty space of the club. Oliver looked down to see his mother, standing on the dance floor wearing a tailored skirt and blouse framed by a stylish silk scarf, poised as always, and yet looking completely out of place in her surroundings.

"Mom. Hi. What are you doing here?" Oliver ambled down the metal stairs and greeted his mother with a kiss on the cheek.

"You aren't returning my calls," she admonished.

"I've been busy."

"Yes, I could see what has been occupying your time when I arrived. I wish you'd settle down."

"And I wish you'd stay out of it," came his clipped response.

"Oliver, I didn't come here to argue with you."

"Then why are you here?"

"I just wanted to make sure you would attend the gala on Friday night. I know you were…away…when the bombing occurred, but it's important for us to commemorate the event and show the resiliency of-"

Oliver interrupted. "Practicing your speech already?"

"Will you be there?" Moira persisted.

"I have a club to run," he reminded her.

"This vanity project?" Moira asked looking around her.

Vanity project? If only she knew. "It's a profitable club."

She sighed. "I know that being back hasn't been an easy adjustment, but the family needs you to make an appearance. We don't want anyone digging into your absence if you fail to attend."

Her words hung in the air.

Oliver's balancing act was a precarious one. The nature of his position required secrecy, yet he had been a public figure all his life, the object of interest, speculation. But his mother was correct; a necessary evil in keeping the different parts of his life separate was making sure he periodically gave the public what they wanted. _The Oliver Queen._

"All right. I'll be there."

"Excellent." Her lips curled into a triumphant smile before she squeezed his hand and turned to leave.

"Since when do you let yourself get guilted into doing anything?" Tommy asked from the balcony above.

Oliver ignored the question. "Have the shipments arrived yet?"

* * *

Regina dug into what she had dubbed her Bag of Magic Tricks and pulled out a makeup bag, flatiron, and round brush, all of which she set on Felicity's bed. There wasn't much room for maneuvering around in the studio apartment, but she was afraid that if she left it up to Felicity to meet her at the townhouse she shared with her boyfriend Maxim, Felicity would be a no-show.

"Just out of curiosity, do you have _any_ panties that don't say Hanes or Fruit of the Loom on them?" Regina asked eyeing Felicity sideways.

"You're the only one who ever sees them," Felicity threw back saucily.

A groan from the other side of the room sounded loudly. "Do you have any idea of how hot that sounded?"

"Keep your head turned, Max," Regina warned her boyfriend, who waited (not so) patiently for Felicity to get 'decent'. She turned back to Felicity and said, "If anyone could make them look good, you could, but we really need to at least take you to Victoria's Secret. Now try this dress."

"Bossy," Felicity teased as she took a garment bag from Reggie, unzipped it, and removed the dress from the hanger. She fingered the black, stretchy material before pulling it on over her head. The fabric was smooth but thick, almost like a bandage. It was tight around her chest and stomach. She reached back but couldn't manage the zipper. Regina came to rescue and gasped as she stepped back and looked at her friend.

"Is it safe yet?" Maxim called from across the room.

"I'm pretty sure it's never going to be safe again," Regina grinned proudly. She turned Felicity around to look in the full-length mirror on the wall next to the sink.

A woman with messy blonde waves stood in front of the mirror in a black dress that accentuated her every curve. Felicity turned to the side to see the back of the dress, and the girl in the mirror turned as well, exposing the sheer lace that dipped down to the middle of her back. There was lace over her breasts, too. The sweetheart silhouette barely covered them up. The woman in the mirror blushed violently.

"Regina! This is way too much!"

"Are you kidding me? It's perfect! You look amazing!" Regina practically strutted as she went back to her Bag of Magic Tricks and retrieved a pair of strappy black pumps that she demanded Felicity put on immediately.

"It's so tight." Felicity spread her hands over her stomach. The dress was flattering; it smoothed out any bumps she would have _and_ stretched with her.

Her feet slid into the pumps Regina offered, and she wobbled a bit on her feet, feeling like she might tip over. "Regina, I don't know if this is me."

"You're right, it's not you. That's why it looks so amazing."

Felicity threw a bundled up pair of dirty socks at her head, but Regina casually stepped aside to avoid them, still grinning.

"Please, Felicity. Let me take care of everything." Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement. Felicity could almost feel the giddy waves rolling from her body. Regina liked this sort of thing, though Felicity found the attention embarrassing.

Reggie flitted around like a butterfly, making Felicity sit down as she applied makeup. Eyeliner. Lipstick. Felicity asked her not to apply too much, but it occurred to her that her pleas might have fallen on deaf ears. Next, Regina attacked her hair with a brush and spritzed a floral scented conditioner over her head. She took the flatiron and went through every strand of hair carefully. Finally, she let Felicity get up to look at herself in the mirror.

Felicity's jaw dropped because the girl in the mirror was _so_ not her; she was the woman Felicity had always admired at clubs, the girl who knew exactly how to show off her beauty. She was stunning. She had flawless, shining hair and the moisturizer Regina used made her skin dewy and fresh. And to her surprise, there actually was not too much makeup, but what little there was made a huge difference. Her blue eyes popped. No way this was _her_.

Regina uttered another squeal and grabbed her hand. Felicity squeezed it back.

"Regina, you're amazing. Thank you."

She fussed a little bit. "I wonder if we should put your hair up, actually. You have such delicate features. We could show off that long, slender neck. No, I don't want to overdo it. All the men will want you, and where would that leave the rest of us?"

"It will leave you stuck with your boyfriend," Maxim reminded her from across the room.

Felicity reached for her glasses, but Regina snatched them from her hand. "Oh no you don't. Contact lenses. Now."

* * *

Max drove them to Verdant, but parking was a nightmare. They found a garage four blocks away and walked. It was still fairly early—only about 8:00 p.m., but the Glades weren't particularly known for safety. Still, the trio encountered nothing out of the ordinary as they made their way to the club. Actually, now that Felicity thought about it, she'd been hearing less and less about violent crimes in the Glades lately.

The line that formed outside of the club was another matter altogether.

"If they let all of us in, there's no way they'll be in compliance with fire codes," Felicity muttered.

"That's why we aren't waiting with the masses," Maxim explained. "We're meeting Roman here—he knows the owners, and we can bypass this mess." He had his phone out, texting.

Felicity glared at Regina, smelling a rat. "And who's Roman?"

"Maxim's brother. Didn't I mention that? Ooops. Must've slipped my mind." Regina shrugged innocently but leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I'm going to get you laid if it's the last thing I do."

"I do not need help with that!" Felicity gasped.

"Your shabby cotton underwear suggests otherwise."

Maxim looked from his girlfriend to Felicity, realizing he'd missed part of the conversation. He held up his phone to show a text. "Roman's inside. He left our names with the bouncer."

Within a couple of minutes, the three were inside the club. Felicity could feel the music pulsating through her body as they moved among the throng of clubgoers dancing and grinding. Some couples moved to the perimeter, to the shadows, to explore their attraction.

"Oh, there he is," Max said pointing to a tall, dark haired man whose resemblance to him was unmistakable.

Maxim waved him over, and Felicity could feel the newcomer's eyes scour her. Once the man approached, he and Max clasped hands firmly in greeting, engaging in a playful tug of war.

"Men," grumbled Regina. "Always trying to show off."

"Regina. Lovely as always." He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before turning to Felicity. "You must be…"

"Felicity," she supplied.

"Roman," he introduced himself. "I'd really like to drink you a buy. Er, buy you a drink." He shook his head at his flustered reaction to her. "Damn, you're gorgeous."

"Flattery gets you everywhere," Regina said pushing Felicity toward Roman until she was literally half a breath away from him, her body pressed against his. Felicity turned to glare at her friend. "Ooops. It's crowded in here," Regina added.

Felicity turned back to Roman. While she didn't appreciate Regina's shenanigans, she had to admit that Roman was attractive. His dark hair fell in front of his expressive brown eyes with a casual elegance. His teeth were not perfectly straight, but they were white and when he smiled, he went from attractive to devastatingly handsome. He was lean, and his suit fit him perfectly, though he seemed a bit overdressed for Verdant's more casual atmosphere. "Lead the way."

Roman extended his hand, and Felicity took it so they wouldn't get separated as they wove through the crowd. As much as she hated to admit it, it felt _nice_ to hold a man's hand. Once they made their way to the bar, they huddled together almost out of necessity, both for the lack of space and to be able to hear one another better. Felicity found herself not minding the nearness too much.

"Regina was painfully obvious, wasn't she?" Roman laughed. "But I'm glad to finally meet you. Regina and Max talk about you quite a bit."

"All lies," Felicity deadpanned.

"What can I get you?" the barkeep asked.

"I'll have a Baltika Dark," Roman spoke up. He looked to Felicity. "You?"

"Rum and Coke, please." She and Regina had a pact that they did not drink margaritas without each other.

A moment later, they were being passed their drinks. "I'll just put it on your tab, Roman," the bartender said.

"Thanks, my man."

"_Cheers_," Felicity said.

"Cheers," Roman replied tapping his bottle of beer against her glass.

Felicity took a sip, appreciating the sweetness and effervescence of her cocktail. "I was actually thinking of that t.v. show from the 1980s. _Cheers._ You know, the bar where everyone knows your name, but your version of cheers works, too."

"Sorry. I didn't grow up here in the states. Sometimes American pop culture goes right over my head."

"That's right. Maxim mentioned your family is originally from Russia."

"Yes, Volgrograd, but we've been here for years."

Felicity nodded. It made sense. She couldn't detect an accent with Max and very little of a Russian accent with Roman. "So do you come here a lot?" Her eyes widened realizing she had just recited one of the most clichéd pick up lines ever. "I know that sounded really lame, and I so did not mean that as a come on. Not that I would never come onto you, just that the bartender knows you by name."

"Like _Cheers_," Roman replied, his dark eyes twinkling. "I work with the owner. I actually have to go to work in a little while."

"What do you do?"

"A little of everything," Roman replied vaguely. "So my brother mentioned you grew up in Vegas. What was that like?"

"About like you'd expect."

"One endless party?"

"Okay, or about the opposite of what you'd expect then," Felicity laughed. "There's the Vegas strip, of course, but that not real life. That's escape, which isn't to say it's not nice to escape every once in awhile…"

"You go to the casinos much?"

Felicity scrunched up her face. "That's a long story."

"You can't quit there," he urged her on.

"I was actually banned from the Sands when I was eighteen. I had a nasty habit of counting cards in Blackjack. They didn't like that too much. It was a shame, really. Blackjack wasn't even my favorite game."

"Aren't you supposed to be twenty-one to gamble in Vegas?"

"That's what my ID said," she replied with a smug grin.

"So you are a player."

"Not so much these days."

"But what would be your game of choice?" he asked.

"I always liked poker."

"Oh, but you can't rely on card counting for that. It's about how well you can read your opponent."

"Which is why I like it."

"Are you good at reading people?" Roman asked.

"Not always," Felicity admitted, "but I'd like to think I'm better than I used to be."

"You should come to work with me tonight," Roman said spontaneously.

Felicity looked at him, puzzlement written across her features. Sure, she'd heard of 'Take your dog to work day' or 'Take your son or daughter to work day' but never 'Take the woman you just picked up in a club to work day.'

"It's an odd invitation, yes?" Roman acknowledged. "You like card games, and I can show you quite a game."

Felicity hedged, "I'd hate to leave Regina and Maxim behind." Roman was good looking and flirting with him was fun, but she didn't know him well enough to just leave with him.

"We'll invite them along," Roman offered, sensing her reluctance.

* * *

A little while later, Roman led Felicity, Regina, and Maxim down a side corridor. It had been blocked off to prevent the casual clubgoers from wandering in the wrong direction.

The further they moved from the main dancing and bar area, the more the building took on an unfinished, industrial feel, reminiscent of its old Queen Steel days. Finally, Roman went through an exterior door, which led into an alley that ran adjacent to the building. They walked down the winding alley, which took them further from the action of the club, until Roman stopped outside a heavy, metal door with flaking paint.

"So, I probably should mention that this card game we're going to is not exactly—ah—legal," Roman admitted.

"What?" Regina shrieked as she reached out and smacked her boyfriend's older brother on the arm.

"It's no big deal," Roman shrugged. "Just don't mention this to anyone else, okay? I can bring guests, but my boss doesn't want any other outsiders."

The two women exchanged looks.

Illegal card games? Regina looked horrified, but Felicity was intrigued.

Besides, standing outside the alley entrance, it was too late to turn back.

A couple, dressed to the nines, stopped in front of a huge bouncer who guarded the door. He checked their IDs and a list on his phone before letting them in. The door opened, allowing the sound from within to filter through. Laughter. Music. It was different from the pulsating lights and grinding bodies in the club, though the first sight Felicity caught of the interior was an industrial-looking set of metal stairs, in keeping with Verdant's industrial theme.

The bouncer was an intimidating guy, at least 6'5" with a bald, shiny head. He was more fat than muscle, but at the same time, it was clear that one swipe of his ham-like fists could knock all of them back to last month.

"Name," he barked.

Roman laughed nervously. "You know me, Vince."

"I still have to ask," the burly guard replied gruffly.

"Roman Belikov."

The bouncer studied the ridiculously small screen in his hands and nodded. His eyes roved over Regina and Felicity appreciatively. Boulder-man offered a small smile as he backed up and opened the door for them.

Once they went inside, they quickly saw that the stairs opened into a massive space with tables and tables of hors d'oeuvres. The industrial feel was still evident from the exposed beams and pipes of the ceiling, but the trappings—the chairs, the tables, the rugs—all looked incredibly high-end, opulent even. A divider was set up, separating the main space from a smaller room. The one where they currently stood gawking was packed with men in suits and women in cocktail dresses. Well, they weren't _all_ gawking, Felicity realized as she looked at Roman. He looked quite at home there.

"Are you going to be okay for a few minutes?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Just help yourselves to refreshments," he instructed the group, playing _de facto_ host.

"Look!" Regina pointed. There was a three-level tier filled with chocolate truffles and petit fours. "It feels like we've stumbled into the witch's house in _Hansel and Gretel_."

Immediately, Felicity's mouth began to water and she fought the urge to scoop it all into her purse. Regina grabbed a few nibbles and bit into one of them, making an ecstatic moan. "This is orgasmic."

"Hey," Max lightly fussed.

There were also tables of little baked tarts, smoked salmon, glasses and glasses of champagne, and even a man standing in front of glossy, dark wood bar preparing drinks. His white tuxedo jacket looked impeccable, as did the concoctions he mixed.

Felicity's mind tried to catch up with her eyes saw. How could all of this be underneath Verdant?

Around all of the tables laden with food were guards standing at the perimeter. Their rigid stance distinguished them, as did the earpieces they wore to communicate with one another. A tiny sting of fear bit at Felicity's skin as she looked at them. There was something about them that was downright ominous.

Her palms sweaty, she leaned her head and gazed into the next room, which was significantly quieter and occupied by far fewer people. There must have been at least five felt tables set up. Older men that she recognized as dealers were settled behind them, except for one table, which remained empty.

In that room, a group of men smoked and drank as they occasionally looked back into the main room. The poker tables drew Felicity closer, but she felt another tiny prick of fear as she watched them. There were small heaps of chips on the tables.

"It's five-thousand just to sit in," Roman hissed in her ear.

Felicity almost jumped at the sound of his voice. She hadn't seen him approach again.

If it was his way of reminding her that there was no way she could afford to join, he needn't have bothered. She was all too aware of her financial limitations. But it didn't hurt to watch them play, did it? After all, poker was an art form.

Most of the players were much older than Felicity, and they occasionally glanced her way as if wondering why she was staring at them when the other women were busying themselves with eating, drinking, and idle gossip.

One of them, a man whose skin hung off his neck, spoke to her. "Come inside, sweetheart. Don't be shy."

Felicity stepped into the room gingerly. Regina joined her, though her mouth was still stuffed full with hors d'oeuvres, and looped her arm through Felicity's elbow. Felicity breathed a sigh of relief.

The two women moved further into the room. The old man's smile was so encouraging, so friendly; Felicity felt more confident and even grazed her fingertips over the green felt of the game table.

"What are you doing in here?" Regina whispered.

Like Felicity, she felt the need to keep quiet.

Felicity shrugged. "You know I like cards. It reminds me of my dad. I think I'm going to stick around and watch their games. You can go back if you like." She felt a small twinge of guilt. When Regina had practically dragged her out, Felicity was quite sure this wasn't what her friend had in mind.

"Okay. I'm going back in the other room to mingle for a little bit," Regina replied.

Felicity swallowed hard when her friend's warmth disappeared from her side, but the men in the middle of the room weren't really paying attention to her anymore. She could catch snippets of their conversation.

"I don't fucking understand, what happened? The _Avtorityet _said there would be five dealers."

Closer and closer, she migrated toward the empty table, so neatly set up with chips and cards, which beckoned to her. Her hands slid across the deck of cards, even as she continued to listen to the conversation.

"One of them called in sick."

"Well, what are we going to do now? The boss has invested a lot of money in this thing."

"We have players coming in from San Fran. I can't just tell them that we fucked up."

They were missing a dealer? She could do that in her sleep. It was easy.

"I can deal." The words slipped from Felicity's mouth before she could wrangle them back in. _No. No. No!_ Well, yes, she technically _could_ deal, but why would she offer to deal in an illegal casino? Just _no_!

Her worries over jumping the gun needn't have mattered when the two men discussing the dealer no-show turned to stare at her as though she was an idiot.

"Who the hell are you?" The voice came from a beefy forty-something man. Felicity found herself staring at the man's nose. It had obviously been broken more than once and had healed back in a most…interesting…way.

"I'm Felicity." Oh, why did she offer up her name?

"I suppose you're an expert poker player?" His mocking tone set Felicity on edge. He looked to his companion, a man far less beefy who had a lean, edgy look to him, and their angry faces dissolved into amusement.

It was their disbelieving condescension that made her step forward, better judgment falling by the wayside. "I am actually. And I can deal for you. It's no problem."

Dammit. _Pride goeth before a fall._

"All right, sweetheart," beefy nose man said in a complacent tone. "Why don't you just run along and join the rest of the women in the other room?"

The dismissal made Felicity so angry that she slid into the empty dealer seat and picked up the deck of cards. _Unbelievable_. She graduated from MIT and could hack with one hand tied behind her back. How dare they talk down to her because she was a woman!

Felicity shuffled the cards a dozen different ways, all the ways dealers do at casinos. They approached the table angrily, almost as if they wanted to pull her off the chair, but she gave them a small, polite smile.

"Believe me, I can do this." Even she was surprised at the confidence pouring from her voice.

Surprisingly, nose man, the one who had snapped at her, crumbled first. "What the hell, why not?"

"капитан will be pissed," said the lean man.

Felicity furrowed her brows. When he spoke, it sounded almost like he said cappytan, but what kind of name was that?

"So? What else do we do? We'll watch the girl for a bit and if she does well, who gives a fuck?"

The lean man looked at Felicity with his eyebrows raised. He didn't strike her as the type of man to go with the flow. "You know how to play Blackjack?"

She smiled at him. Stupid question.

"All right. My name is Dimitri. Just shout if you need anything."

In the background, Felicity saw Regina watching from the other entry with a slight worried look on her face. There was no time to think about it, though, because men filtered into the room once they saw everything was ready for another game.

Their eyes zeroed in on her with raised eyebrows, and suddenly there was a crowd around her table. _They want to sit at my table_, she realized in horror. It was one thing to know how to deal, quite another thing to do it in a high-stakes game. And an illegal one, at that. Felicity's hands shook a little bit, so she kept shuffling. Finally, the seats were organized.

"How you doin'?"

"Good, thank you." Felicity looked up at the man addressing her, another one in his fifties. "How are you?"

"Can't complain."

His admiring gaze made her face hot. None of them seemed perturbed that she was the only female dealer. In fact, the fight over seats at her table suggested otherwise.

The game began and she dealt out the cards smoothly, entertaining herself by counting the cards while they flew out of her hands. The first game ended with a win for the house. She could feel Dimitri breathing down her neck as he made sure she wasn't screwing up the game, but he relaxed as game after game went without incident.

The man who smiled at her won, and he tossed a chip in Felicity's direction. Stunned, she grabbed it. _A tip?_

She glanced at Dimitri, and he nodded.

The guys started to loosen up. Cigar smoke furled around the table, choking the air. Half of the crowd from the other room filtered in to watch. There were explosions of laughter at other tables, groans, but all of it disappeared as she focused on the game.

"Yes! Yes, thank you! Here you go, honey." Another few chips flew Felicity's way.

"Thank you, sir."

The players seemed to be from a mixed crowd—ranging from rich businessmen to married, middle-class men who looked like they were on the lam from their wives.

The ones supervising the games were a different sort completely. Eastern European looking, if she had to guess. Rigid.

Something nagged at the back of her mind, but she didn't want to confront it yet. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. This was dangerous. She didn't know how she knew, just that she did.

There was a slight commotion in the other room. Felicity heard voices lift up in greeting and Dimitri tensed next to her.

He was gone in a flash.

"Oliver, there was a slight problem…"

Felicity didn't look up because she was still focused on the game. It was none of her business anyway.

Whoever this Oliver was responded in Russian. At least, she _thought _it was Russian, but she wasn't entirely sure. All she knew was that his voice was young and angry, arrogant and authoritative. _And sexy_, she added begrudgingly. It cut through the calm energy at her table like a knife, and the man sitting directly in front of her flinched. Felicity tried to keep focused on the game, but the voices were getting louder and angrier. She heard them walking across the room until finally someone stopped next to her chair.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Felicity lifted her head to the voice to tell him to calm down and to be quiet, but all the words caught in her throat when she stared up into a pair of fiery blue eyes, eyes that widened slightly when they met hers.

The intensity of his stare shook her, and she averted her eyes to assess the rest of him. One brief look and she could tell that this guy was gorgeous. He was older than her by maybe a handful of years, but he practically buzzed with a deadly, seductive energy that gave her the feeling that his life experiences were far more varied and extensive than hers. His light brown hair was cropped short, his nose straight, his jaw chiseled, his lips utterly kissable. _No, not kissable_, she mentally corrected herself. _There will be no kissing._

He wore a well-cut suit jacket over a crisp white button-up shirt left open at the neck. The jacket stretched perfectly over his impressive physique—broad, muscular shoulders, a trim waist. His package was eye level with her, and she forced her gaze upward rather than focusing on how impressively he filled out his tailored pants.

This man was hot, that was for sure, even if—from the looks of things—he hated her already.

_Figured. _

But as she met his eyes again, the heat once again threw her.

"Excuse me, sir," Felicity said in a cold voice, "we're in the middle of a game."

One of the men sitting at her table chuckled and Felicity froze. Behind him, she could see Dimitri waving his arms around to get her attention. His face was pale, and he shook his head violently.

_Uh-oh. _

"I asked you a question," he ground out. "Who are you and why are you dealing at my card game?"

* * *

**Thoughts? Hit me up! I'd love to know what you think so far. :)**


	3. So This Was How the Moth Felt

**Author's Note: **A huge thanks to all who read and reviewed the last chapter. I really do appreciate it! As ever, I don't own _Arrow_, its characters, etc. But you knew that already, didn't you? ;)

* * *

**Chapter Two: "So this was how the moth felt"**

"_I asked you a question," he ground out. "Who are you and why are you dealing at my card game?" _

Felicity suddenly realized how silent the table had become, how everyone in the room stared at her. Whoever this man was, he was _the_ authority and, of course, everyone had looked at him as if he was in charge—except her.

When she was young, her dad called her 'sassy' with a glint of admiration in his eyes. As an adult, her supervisor, Ralph Jameson, stated in her yearly job performance report that she was not a team player and would likely never be managerial material because she had a problem with authority. She had to bite her tongue to keep from retorting that no, she just had a problem with dumbasses.

Now she wondered if they were all onto something because this man—oh goodness, he was built and incredibly handsome and frowny—made her stubbornly dig in, and now the situation was worse. Way worse. Worse than dealing at an illegal casino worse.

"Oliver, it's okay," one of the players finally said, vouching for her. "She's good."

Oliver's scowl loosened somewhat as Dimitri repeated that the dealer called in sick and that the blonde offered to help.

But he kept staring.

"I'm Felicity. Felicity Smoak." Dang it. Why did she keep offering up her last name?

He didn't respond to her directly. "Who brought this женщина here?"

She huffed slightly, annoyed both at his dismissal and the sneaking suspicion he had called her a dirty name in…what was that…_Russian_?

Suddenly, a man seated to the side leaned in, smirking. "Who cares? I'd rather look at her than those old fucks you have over there."

The tension choking the air diffused as everyone dissolved into laughter. Even Oliver's eyes lightened and a smile twitched across his stony face.

Felicity felt a sudden swoop of heat in her chest, even though the smile wasn't directed at her. She could still feel his uneasiness as he circled around the table, as though stalking prey. They resumed the game, her face burning whenever she glanced up and caught the brooding man staring at her. With his arms crossed in front of his chest, he was hot enough to be on the cover of GQ. Gorgeous but a jerk. Life was _so_ unfair.

The games went on and on for hours, and she fought the urge to yawn. Getting up and going to work in the morning was going to suck, but she had to see this through. That fact was reflected on Oliver's stern face. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"All right, hon. I'm out."

Chairs scraped the floor as players started to leave, and they all slid over chips towards Felicity. She didn't know whether she should accept them or not, but something told her it would be insulting not to. "Thank you."

They were all so polite as they prepared to depart, lining up to cash out next to a heavily guarded man with a metal box.

Felicity stood up to leave, too, feeling more and more uneasy as the room emptied of people.

Maxim and Regina make a beeline for her. "Finally," Regina said in a hushed voice.

"Let's just go. Now." Maxim's voice was tight.

Oliver stood against the wall, talking to a few other men next to him. He pulled his arms back and Felicity caught a glimpse of something black and metallic resting on his hip. He had a gun. _Holy shit_. Felicity walked as quietly as she could with the heels Regina loaned her and kept her head down. The trio's strides quickened as they passed him, but Oliver's head snapped up like he never missed a thing.

"Felicity."

She hesitated when she heard Oliver's smooth voice. Could she keep going like she didn't hear him? No, the hesitation in her movement would give her away, and something told her that Oliver was not the type of man that someone simply walked away from. "I'm not done with you."

The way he spoke—his voice like velvet-covered marble—made her heart freeze in her chest. What exactly did he want from her?

Oliver pushed himself off the wall, dark and menacing as he approached the three friends. He swept around Felicity and lightly touched her upper back, the warmth of his skin mesmerizing her. He was dangerous, calculating, everything that she should not want in a man, and yet she felt the most delicious tingling at his nearness, at his touch.

So this was how the moth felt.

"You can go," Oliver said to Maxim. "I'll drive her home." There was something forbidding in his gaze, or maybe it was the way he spoke, as if he expected everyone to do what he said without question.

Roman appeared in the room and patted his brother on the shoulder as if to assure him it would be okay. Poor Maxim was too terrified to argue. His anxious eyes slid to Felicity before meeting Oliver's again. "Okay. C'mon, Regina."

Regina frowned, the worry on her face mirroring the feelings in Felicity's chest as Maxim gripped her arm so tightly that her face looked pained. "Call me when you get home no matter how late."

"I'll walk you out," Roman offered the couple.

Oliver watched them go with a satisfied expression and ushered Felicity to a secluded area of the room where he gestured toward a sofa that—she realized when she sat on it—was intended more as a style statement than for comfort. Of course, maybe it was just hard to get comfortable while sitting with a man who made her feel so uneasy. Her eyes fell on the backs of her friends. _Traitors, _Felicity thought as she watched them leave without her.

"I—I think I should go, too." Swallowing hard, Felicity suppressed the urge to leap from the sofa and run away from him. Maybe if she took off her too-high heels, she could speed along her escape. The heels themselves would make excellent projectile weapons if only her aim were better. Oh, who was she kidding? Coach Buckner was right. She really should have tried harder in P.E.

For his part, Oliver looked calm, casual even, as he rested his arm on the back of the sofa and his fingers brushed against her shoulder lightly. Her skin burned at his touch, but it was a pleasant burn, an awareness as her senses went into overload.

She became acutely aware that they were all alone. The last people in the room were finished packing up the tables.

"You can relax," he said recognizing her discomfort. "I just wanted to apologize. I'm sorry for the way I talked to you."

Well, that wasn't what she expected. "Oh." Her guard was still up. There was definitely darkness behind his icy blue eyes, but she was not sure what it entailed. "I mean, all's forgiven."

"When I saw someone I didn't recognize dealing at one of my games, I was not happy."

"I—I see."

His lips pulled upwards, revealing deep dimples as he studied her. His other hand reached out and his finger stroked her face in a surprisingly tender gesture. "You really have no idea who I am, do you?" He sounded amused, which was probably a good thing. It beat the alternative.

"Should I?" Her voice came out breathy, not defiant, as she had intended. She was too fixated on the disconnect between how incredible it felt to have this veritable stranger touch her cheek and the uncertainty of her situation. He was the spider, and she was the fly. All that heat combined with the energy in his eyes made her dizzy.

He laughed then, a deep, pleasant rumble. Blue eyes twinkled at her. "No, I guess not. But you will soon enough."

_What does that even mean? _

"You're really good at what you do. I was watching you the whole time." The compliment, along with his smile, burned Felicity all the way down to her toes. He tilted his head, looking at her like he'd never seen anything quite like her.

It was unnerving.

And exhilarating.

"Yeah, I kind of noticed." _That intensity…not sure if it was creepy or hot._ _I was kind of wondering whether you want to lick me from head to toe or break my kneecaps._

His eyes flashed with amusement. "Personally, I would go with discerning over creepy _or _hot, but licking is a distinct possibility. As for breaking your kneecaps, it would be a shame to ruin such beautiful legs."

She squeezed her eyes shut and silently counted down from three before opening them again. "Oh crap. I said that aloud didn't I? I have got to work on my filter."

"Felicity, how would you like to work for me?"

Shock reverberated through her body.

"Men like staring at gorgeous women when they gamble. You did a good job, you earned a lot of tips tonight, and the players left happy even though they were lining my wallet. That says a lot for you."

Felicity stared at him, struggling to form a coherent sentence.

Oliver was bad news all packaged in an expensive suit with a beautiful smile and a body that… _No_, she reminded herself. _Keep this professional. This was a one-off deal._ The last thing she needed was to get sucked into a seedy underworld, no matter how strapped for cash she was.

But curiosity won out.

"How much?"

Oliver left her side to gather the boxed up chips, the tips that she was about to leave behind in her haste to escape.

He glanced at the take. "About five grand. Of course, that's before my cut. Sixty-forty."

_What? _

She watched as he gouged the box and handed it back to her. There was only a relatively small heap left. Three thousand dollars at the most, which was more money than she had starting out the evening, but what gave him the right to just take what he wanted of it? Especially considering from the cut of his suit, he wasn't exactly hurting for money.

She couldn't help but feel indignant. "Wait a second. That's not fair! All you did was glower and make people feel uncomfortable. I'm the one who charmed them."

For the first time since hours ago, a shadow crossed over his face. "I'll give you this. You're either incredibly courageous or monumentally stupid." She blinked quickly at that. She'd been called many things in her life, but never stupid. "If you were man, you'd be picking yourself off the floor right now. This opportunity exists for you because of _my_ connections and my generosity." He tempered his reaction. "It's a couple nights per week, and if you're getting tips like this all the time, you'll be making good money for yourself even with my cut."

He was right. If she could make a few thousand dollars for just a few hours' worth of work, her life would be so much easier. Perhaps she could finally get her head above water, actually breathe without waiting for the next crisis to hit.

Was she actually considering this? Maybe she _was_ monumentally stupid. Or maybe desperation caused smart people to do stupid things. Either way…

She swallowed her anger and backed off. "I'm sorry, Mr. Oliver—I mean—"

The smile returned to his face. Satisfaction. "Just Oliver. And is that a yes?" His eyes watched her like he already knew her answer. He could see her wrestling with it.

"Yes—wait, how do I—" Felicity lowered her voice. "I can't deposit this in the bank, can I?" She knew that what she was agreeing to was illegal. The phrase "money laundering" came to mind. It was one she'd only heard of in mob movies, but it was just for the short term. Just to get herself back on her feet. No harm, no foul.

He chuckled again. "I'll put you on the Verdant payroll. It will all be on the up-and-up. Well, as much as our arrangement _can_ be." He extended his hand waiting for her to take it. She hesitated but finally stood and clasped his. His calloused fingers wrapped around her smaller hand, shaking it. It would have seemed perfectly businesslike if not for the gentle caress of his thumb against the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist. A shot of desire coursed through her. She swallowed hard. When was the last time she'd had sex? The last time she'd even been touched like this? A few years? It was as though all those parts of her body were waking up again just from this man's simple touch. It was like there was a demon inside her, rattling the bars of its cage. And she didn't even like him! Not really. Okay, maybe a little.

And just as quickly as his ministrations began, Oliver pulled away, stepped back, and inclined his head towards the man guarded by two ape-like looking guards.

"Anton. Pay her out."

The man took the box of chips from Felicity and handed back a little more than three thousand in cash. Her eyes widened. This was surreal. There would finally be a little safety net. She could pay her own bills, help her mom, and have enough left over for a trip to Victoria's Secret. Not that she would tell Regina about that. Her friend would gloat mercilessly.

Felicity stuffed the cash into her clutch.

Oliver looked at her over his iPhone. "I need your number to contact you."

She gave it to him, trying to hide the quiver in her voice, the fear that not only had she made a deal with the devil but she liked it, too.

They exited to the larger anteroom. A crew was gathering the leftover food and preparing to dump it in large, black trash bags for disposal.

"Donate the food to the 8th Street Shelter," Oliver instructed when he saw what they were about to do.

A little sound of surprise escaped Felicity.

"What?" he asked turning to her.

"Nothing. I just—you're not what I expected."

"It's a shame to let it to go to waste. No one should go hungry." There was a flash of something in his eyes that struck her. It was as though he spoke from experience.

"Maybe you're a good man after all." She paused, realized she had paid him a backhanded compliment, and added, "Not that I thought you were evil. Or even mildly bad. Maybe rude. Or…"

He cut her off. "Felicity, I'm not a good man. Far from it."

His contradiction was tinged with sadness, and she wondered if perhaps she was getting a glimpse at the man behind the facade.

The two began their ascent on the metal stairs, finally finding their way into the cool night air. A shiver ran through her, and Oliver shrugged off his jacket and draped it around Felicity's shoulders. There were no lingering stares or touches. Instead, the two made their way through the alley, Felicity struggling to keep up with his longer stride, all the while she noticed him scouting their surroundings for anything amiss.

"The car is over here."

Oliver led her to a fenced-in lot, which housed a dark, late-model town car, next to which stood a man wearing a suit that stretched tightly over his muscles. The man opened the car door for his employer and guest.

"We'll be dropping off Ms. Smoak at—" Oliver looked to her for a location.

"Havenside Apartments. Near the intersection of Oakwood and Fennel," Felicity supplied.

The man nodded and silently closed the car door after the duo had climbed into the back.

The car's interior was sumptuous, all glossy wood and supple leather. Felicity felt as though she was sitting on clouds when she sank into the seat, and a little sigh must have escaped her because Oliver looked to her with a hint of amusement.

"You don't have much of a poker face. So how did you learn how to play cards so well?" His blue eyes studied her, making her feel stripped bare.

"I picked it up when I was a kid. My dad taught me the basics, much to my mom's horror, but when you grow up in Vegas... Then I learned how to count cards. Ratios. Probability. It's just second nature now," she babbled before she realized her mistake of admitting to the ring leader of an illegal gambling outfit that she was, in essence, a card shark.

He shook his head. "You realize people get their fingers broken for that, right? Sometimes worse."

A stab of anxiety reminded Felicity to be careful with this man. He must have sensed her nervousness because he added, "Not that I would want your fingers broken. I think we could both come up with better uses for them." He paused a beat. "Like dealing cards."

Her heart slammed in her chest. Did he know what he was doing to her? The push-pull of his comments, his very nearness in the backseat of that town car, and the shroud of mystery that cloaked him all served to draw her in against her better judgment. He _had_ to know. Perhaps it was even a game to him, but she would not be playing the game according to his rules. No, this Oliver was trouble, and she didn't get into bed with trouble—literally or figuratively.

"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not using my powers for evil," she replied lightly, brushing aside his flirtation. "As a dealer, being able to count cards useful. I can see whether people are cheating. I know the tells before someone ends up with a huge pile of chips. That came in handy on game nights at MIT. Have you ever tried to play cards with certified geniuses? Talk about herding cats."

"Certified geniuses are a thing?"

"They are," she confirmed. She should know.

"You are different."

Different? What was that supposed to mean? "Is that an insult or a compliment?"

"I could be coy with you. I could do the whole insult-you-before-complimenting-you routine."

Now it was her turn. "That's a thing?"

"It is. But the fact you're not like anyone else I've met is definitely a compliment. It takes a hell of a lot for someone to surprise me."

The car stopped in front of her apartment building and she waited for—something. She wasn't sure what. Would he try to kiss her? Would he shake her hand like a business associate? Pat her on the head like a beloved pet?

It was none of the above, as it turned out.

"It was nice meeting you, Felicity."

"Nice meeting you, too."

Oliver nodded, his mouth fixed in a neutral expression, and she took that—along with the driver opening the door for her—as her cue to leave.

How anticlimactic.

She climbed out of the sleek car with no difficulty and start walking the front steps of her apartment building, her mind buzzing with everything that happened.

"Felicity?"

Turning around, she could see that he was still parked there, watching her.

"Yes, Oliver?"

"At the games, don't be afraid to show more skin." He spoke as if it was just a suggestion, but the words had her off keel. "You'll get bigger tips, I guarantee it."

Her face felt warm despite the cold night air. "I—I'll keep that in mind."

He winked at her before rolling up the window of the car, leaving her absolutely dumbfounded.

What the hell did she just sign up for?

She padded up to her third-floor walk-up and let herself in. Immediately she texted Regina.

**FS:** _Made it home_.

**RP:** _Thank God_.

**FS:** _See you in a few hours._

She flopped down on her bed without removing her makeup or even brushing her teeth. Her pores were so going to rebel, but she was exhausted. She shifted slightly on the lumpy mattress and felt the silk blend suit jacket rub against her skin.

She still had Oliver's jacket, her sleep deprived mind realized. He must have known and hadn't said a word.

She inhaled deeply. It smelled like him: clean with an undertone of Oliver himself.

So familiar. Oddly comforting.

_Why?_

Her eyes drooped, heavy with fatigue, and she was finally lulled into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
